“I’m sorry.” He pressed his lips together, trying to hide his amusement.
“Just give me a minute to restart my heart.”
He sat up slowly, so as not to startle me again. Then he leaned forward and reached out with his long arms to pick me up, gripping the tops of my arms like I was a toddler. He sat me on the bed beside him.
“Why don’t you sit with me,” he suggested, putting a cold hand on mine. “How’s the heart?”
“You tell me — I’m sure you hear it better than I do.”
I felt his quiet laughter shake the bed.
We sat there for a moment in silence, both listening to my heartbeat slow. I thought about having Edward in my room, with my father in the house.
“Can I have a minute to be human?” I asked.
“Certainly.” He gestured with one hand that I should proceed.
“Stay,” I said, trying to look severe.
“Yes, ma’am.” And he made a show of becoming a statue on the edge of my bed.
I hopped up, grabbing my pajamas from off the floor, my bag of toiletries off the desk. I left the light off and slipped out, closing the door.
I could hear the sound from the TV rising up the stairs. I banged the bathroom door loudly, so Charlie wouldn’t come up to bother me.
I meant to hurry. I brushed my teeth fiercely, trying to be thorough and speedy, removing all traces of lasagna. But the hot water of the shower couldn’t be rushed. It unknotted the muscles in my back, calmed my pulse. The familiar smell of my shampoo made me feel like I might be the same person I had been this morning. I tried not to think of Edward, sitting in my room, waiting, because then I had to start all over with the calming process. Finally, I couldn’t delay anymore. I shut off the water, toweling hastily, rushing again. I pulled on my holey t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Too late to regret not packing the Victoria’s Secret silk pajamas my mother got me two birthdays ago, which still had the tags on them in a drawer somewhere back home.
I rubbed the towel through my hair again, and then yanked the brush through it quickly. I threw the towel in the hamper, flung my brush and toothpaste into my bag. Then I dashed down the stairs so Charlie could see that I was in my pajamas, with wet hair.
“’Night, Dad.”
“’Night, Bella.” He did look startled by my appearance. Maybe that would keep him from checking on me tonight.
I took the stairs two at a time, trying to be quiet, and flew into my room, closing the door tightly behind me.
Edward hadn’t moved a fraction of an inch, a carving of Adonis perched on my faded quilt. I smiled, and his lips twitched, the statue coming to life.
His eyes appraised me, taking in the damp hair, the tattered shirt. He raised one eyebrow. “Nice.”
I grimaced.
“No, it looks good on you.”
“Thanks,” I whispered. I went back to his side, sitting cross-legged beside him. I looked at the lines in the wooden floor.
“What was all that for?”
“Charlie thinks I’m sneaking out.”
“Oh.” He contemplated that. “Why?” As if he couldn’t know Charlie’s mind much more clearly than I could guess.
“Apparently, I look a little overexcited.”
He lifted my chin, examining my face.
“You look very warm, actually.”
He bent his face slowly to mine, laying his cool cheek against my skin. I held perfectly still.
“Mmmmmm . . . ,” he breathed.
It was very difficult, while he was touching me, to frame a coherent question. It took me a minute of scattered concentration to begin.
“It seems to be . . . much easier for you, now, to be close to me.”
“Does it seem that way to you?” he murmured, his nose gliding to the corner of my jaw. I felt his hand, lighter than a moth’s wing, brushing my damp hair back, so that his lips could touch the hollow beneath my ear.
“Much, much easier,” I said, trying to exhale.
“Hmm.”
“So I was wondering . . . ,” I began again, but his fingers were slowly tracing my collarbone, and I lost my train of thought.
“Yes?” he breathed.
“Why is that,” my voice shook, embarrassing me, “do you think?”
I felt the tremor of his breath on my neck as he laughed. “Mind over matter.”
I pulled back; as I moved, he froze — and I could no longer hear the sound of his breathing.
We stared cautiously at each other for a moment, and then, as his clenched jaw gradually relaxed, his expression became puzzled.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No — the opposite. You’re driving me crazy,” I explained.
He considered that briefly, and when he spoke, he sounded pleased. “Really?” A triumphant smile slowly lit his face.